Marjorie's Vacation eBook

And that night, Marjorie fell asleep while thinking
of all the lovely things she could collect to put
in the book, which Uncle Steve had told her she must
call her Memory Book.

CHAPTER VI

Boo!

The days of Marjorie’s imprisonment went by
pleasantly enough. Every morning Molly would
come over, and they played with their paper-doll houses.
These houses continually grew in size and beauty.
Each girl added a second book, which represented grounds
and gardens. There were fountains, and flowerbeds
and trees and shrubs, which they cut from florists’
catalogues; other pages were barns and stables, and
chicken-coops, all filled with most beautiful specimens
of the animals that belonged in them. There were
vegetable gardens and grape arbors and greenhouses,
for Uncle Steve had become so interested in this game
that he brought the children wonderful additions to
their collections.

It was quite as much fun to arrange the houses and
grounds as it was to play with them, and each new
idea was hailed with shrieks of delight.

Molly often grew so excited that she upset the paste-pot,
and her scraps and cuttings flew far and wide, but
good-natured Jane was always ready to clear up after
the children. Jane had been with Mrs. Sherwood
for many years, and Marjorie was her favorite of all
the grandchildren, and she was never too tired to wait
upon her. She, too, hunted up old books and papers
that might contain some contributions to the paper-doll
houses. But afternoons were always devoted to
rest, until four or five o’clock, when Uncle
Steve came to pay his daily visit.

One afternoon he came in with a fresh budget of letters.

“Letters!” exclaimed Marjorie. “Goody!
I haven’t had any letters for two days.
Please give them to me, Uncle, and please give me a
paper-cutter.”

“Midge,” said Uncle Steve, “if you
think these are letters, you’re very much mistaken.
They’re not.”

“What are they, then?” asked Marjorie,
greatly mystified, for they certainly looked like
letters, and were sealed and stamped.

“As I’ve often told you, it’s a
good plan to open them and see.”

Laughing in anticipation at what she knew must be
some new joke of Uncle Steve’s, Marjorie cut
the envelopes open.

The first contained, instead of a sheet of paper,
a small slip, on which was written:

“If you think this a letter, you’re much
mistook; It’s only a promise of a New Book!”

“Well,” said Marjorie, “that’s
just as good as a letter, for if you promise me a
book, I know I’ll get it. Oh, Uncle, you
are such a duck! Now I’ll read the next
one.”

The next one was a similar slip, and said:

“This isn’t a letter, though like one
it seems; It’s only a promise of Chocolate Creams!”

“Oh!” cried Marjorie, ecstatically, “this
is just too much fun for anything! Do you mean
real chocolate creams, Uncle?”